


Bottacelli

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 14:11:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14695820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a smug aristocrat pays an impromptu visit to the Mansion, everyone's nerves are set on edge and new relationships are put to the test.  Where is a bouncer when you need one??!





	Bottacelli

They were all gathered in the Common Room together - well, not exactly together. The gold-blond Lieutenant was conversing with, or rather was listening to young Lord Sinclair. Tall, aristocratic looking, dark-haired Sinclair, thought Garrison, was someone who really required an audience for his monologue, not a conversational companion; still Craig was trying to nod and smile politely, wishing the evening would be over, or that Sinclair would get bored and take his leave.

God knows, HE was bored with the pompous fool and his self-important maunderings. They had too few of these peaceful evenings between missions to waste one on this guy; he'd thought to take everyone down to The Doves for a round, before their unexpected visitor had arrived, declaring that his father, the General Lord Sinclair, had met the Lieutenant and Miss Garrison in London and "simply would not have forgiven me if I hadn't popped by to pay our respects. And to be given the opportunity to renew my old acquaintance with Miss O'Donnell, well that is certainly an added , though unexpected pleasure."

After the initial introductions, with Sinclair showing his amused astonishment that Garrison had even bothered to introduce the men lounging around the room, he had pointedly ignored them, other than making a few condescending comments about them to Garrison, not caring that they could hear every word. The guys glanced at each other, shrugged, and proceeded to leave the socializing to Lynn and the Lieutenant. Dealing with twits like this wasn't in their job description.

Interesting, though, that the snob obviously knew Meghada, otherwise known as the Dragon, or apparently to their unwelcome visitor as Miss O'Donnell. {"Wouldn't a thought she'd a 'ad the time a day for that sod,"} Goniff wondered to himself; he was playing a game of Solitare, cheating as usual, with Casino looking on and making desultory remarks about the cards being laid down. Chief leaned against the window sill, keeping a watch outside as usual, though there was no real need, here at the Mansion; still, he was paying close attention to the activity within the room.

Actor and Lynn were discussing her upcoming shopping trip to London to replenish her wardrobe; he'd felt the need to give her some advice, as he'd made it clear he had better taste than she did. She listened with a pleasant smile on her face, inwardly deciding she'd buy one strictly awful outfit just to annoy the hell out of him. Actor saw no need to interact with the interloper; he knew he himself could play the superior role just as well, even better, mostly to prod and annoy his fellow teammates for his own amusement, but he didn't like that an outsider would do so in his domain, against the men in his team.

Lynn, she just flat out disliked the bastard and didn't intend to be around him if she could avoid him. He didn't have the power to really do any actual harm, she supposed, and she'd go to work soothing any ruffled feelings after he left. Still, she was keeping a cautious eye on the other woman in the room. Sinclair might claim to be an old friend, but Lynn knew the redhead counted these men as much 'her guys' as Lynn did, and the instinct to protect them ran deep. Being from a culture in some ways akin to their own, but in so many ways quite different, the Dragon's reactions could sometimes be, shall we say, unexpected and unrestrained. And Lynn had no doubt she would react.

Meghada sat in one of the easy chairs beside the fireplace, her gaze shifting from group to group, a small smile occasionally crossing her face at the interplay between the slender blond Englishman at the card table and the dark-haired tough mannered American harassing him. They were much of an age, those two, she knew; in fact the blond was a couple of years older, though usually seeming much younger to the first casual glance; {"only when he's extremely tired or hurt do you see his real age. Probably those so-deceiving innocent eyes and quick smile, along with his smaller stature,"} she pondered.

Bringing her thoughts back from where they seemed to wander more and more frequently anymore, she shook her head in inner dismay, and reminded herself to focus on the current situation. Keeping that calm face was a battle; inside she was seething at the way the pompous ass was treating her friends. She held herself in, knowing that if she defended them, or even interacted with them in her usual open manner, since Sinclair considered them so far outside the pale, he'd make it his business to really target them, here and in the future; he was that sort of petty jerk, and delighted in making a nuisance of himself. Somehow, she had to rein him in, stop this silly nonsense, but not by causing harm to Garrison or Lynn or the guys. Sinclair was the type of bully who always had to have a ready victim; the key would be to give him a better, more compelling target for his machinations.

She stilled herself in patience; she knew Sinclair, knew how he thought, how he acted and reacted; she'd made quite a study of him a few years ago. {"Soon,"} she told herself, {"soon he'll give me an opening to draw his fire over to me. If I work it right, he just won't be able to help himself, and me, I have better defenses, stronger allies than the guys do. Dragons are not just brute force"} she reminded herself from her early training - well, actually from her mother's lectures after one of her more impetuous actions in her pre-teen years. {"We are also quiet, and cunning and stealthy; we protect that which we treasure, and woe to any who mistreat those who are important to us"} she nodded to herself.

This was just verbal heckling, she knew, something that normally the guys would probably just write off to Sinclair's being a 'jerk bigshot'. But they were tired, just back from a mission, they needed to relax, not put up with this bullshit. 

She found herself getting more wound up, more protective. Really, how dare he show such contempt for these men, that jumped-up do nothing, sitting outside his father's office as if he made a contribution, visiting his clubs, issuing all his snide opinions. She'd watched them in action, watched them pull the cons they were so good at, each contributing their own invaluable skills, working together and caring for each other as brothers. She'd seen them come back, bruised and bloodied, being given short-shrift in the way of medical care, and sent back out again before they were fully healed. She'd watched while their rations and supplies were delayed or mislaid; she'd filled in the gaps more than once, and had arranged with the Clan to do more than that for the future, whether she was in the picture or not. She'd watched them take on and succeed with missions no one in their right mind would have volunteered for; but then, they hadn't any choice, each mission was part of the bargain they'd struck with the military - service for duration plus six months, in exchange for parole.

Secretly she doubted the military had any intention of keeping their end of the bargain - after all, the original bargain had been for one mission, one mission only, in exchange for that parole, and look at how that had turned out. And the way they were being used, she wondered if the military wasn't hoping these 'expendables' wouldn't be around for the duration at all; that tactic had been used before, as she well knew. Well, she'd be keeping watch; she'd do what she could to give them support thru this war, and she had a trick or two in mind for pulling them out of the fire after the war too, if need be. 

Lord Sinclair paused in his oratory to smile over at Meghada, (rather like a hungry crocodile, slimy scales and all, she thought, thinking she even caught a whiff of swampy water in the air), and leaning toward her, raising his voice.

"My dear girl." He glanced around slyly, making sure now that he had the attention of everyone in the room, "My dear girl, you can't imagine how surprised I was to learn you were here, working with these, ah, 'men'. Hardly what I'd expect from one of your background, your intellect. I do realize we all must make an effort, what with the war, of course, but still, not at all the thing, is it? However do you tolerate it?" All background noise ceased, as everyone in the room stilled.

"I do quite well, Lord Sinclair; I have no real complaints about the company; naturally, there isn't all that much interaction, you know," the young woman with the deep red hair responded with a slightly amused smile.

Sinclair responded, "perhaps, but what on earth do you do for mental stimulation? I remember those days at Cambridge quite well, those games of Bottacelli; you enjoyed them so much. You wouldn't know it," he intoned as he lifted his long nose and sneered around the room at the team, the first time he'd deigned to address the men at all, even in this indirect fashion. Meghada tensed inwardly, watching her prey as he came closer.

"It is not a commonly known game, of course, requiring an excellent education and quite a superior intellect," he smirked disparagingly, and turned to Garrison and confided, "she was quite young, in her mid-teens, not attending classes as such, of course, but because of her family's wealth and position, being allowed to audit some of the more advanced classes in philosophy and such. Had an interest in some of the more, shall we say, esoteric lines of inquiry, don't you know. Quite intelligent for a woman, actually."

Facing Meghada again, he continued, his smirk becoming an absolute leer, "you must miss that, being able to share knowledge with someone who can challenge you mentally, provide you with that pleasure. That's hardly the case here, is it? Perhaps the Lieutenant and that Italian fellow might possibly be up to snuff," he sniffed doubtfully, "but that one" jerking his chin toward Casino, who was glaring at him "sounds straight out of a cheap gangster movie; the Cockney can't even speak his own language properly, hardly a sparkling intellect, obviously; and as for the Indian, all you'd get from that quarter is a few simple sentences and a few grunts, I'd wager. Hardly what you're used to, my dear girl, hardly what you deserve."

He smiled down at her in a conspiratorial manner, and she smiled and nodded back in seeming agreement, chuckling. She had to wonder how smart he really was; if he knew the men were convicts, knew anything about the violence they were capable of on a mission, just what gave him the idea it was safe to disparage them to their faces? Was it that he thought the Lieutenant would keep them in line? Was he deliberately provoking them, thinking to cause trouble there?

Garrison was appalled; he knew Lynn considered Meghada a close friend. His team trusted and liked her on a personal level, had gone to her on occasions when they needed medical care and Actor was away, before the new doctor took over; her cottage was between the Mansion and the village, bordering the woods that backed the Mansion grounds. They had worked with her officially only once but he would have had no hesitation doing so again. Now, he wasn't so sure.

She had been their undercover contact in Paris, posing as a singer at The Tripoli, a Paris nightclub frequented by the Nazis and their sympathizers, though they hadn't recognized her at the time. Well, most of them hadn't, and the scene down at The Doves a couple of nights after their return had let him know which two HAD.

When they walked in to The Doves that night, she was sitting at her usual back table alone, but joined them after Goniff slid over to invite her. Garrison was still curious as to what was said between them then; their body language was most provocative but he couldn't interpret it, but Chief had commented "wonder why he's crowding in on her like that," while Casino gave an amused hurrumph, "just watch, she'll hand that little Limey his head if he don't back off."

Still, a few minutes later, they both glided over to the big round table, her in front smiling serenely, him following smirking every so slightly, with one eyebrow raised in amusement. {"Or was it anticipation?"} Garrison wondered now. After sinking into the chair between Garrison and Actor, she had glanced around and asked the Lieutenant casually, with a knowing smile, "don't you think The Tripoli has declined under the current occupation? Certainly the champagne is of inferior quality." Only then did Garrison and the others realize something was going on; she was a local, a civilian, she shouldn't have had any idea about their mission, where they'd been. Actor shifted in his chair to stare at her, narrowing his eyes in puzzlement. Casino and Chief had just looked from one to the other, wondering what the heck was going on. Even as Craig let any possible explanations cross his mind, he immediately dismissed them.

But then he had realized, Lynn had been fighting a grin ever since they'd walked in and seen her, and Goniff was sitting there busy staring at the ceiling as if he found it fascinating while his mouth twitched trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress a smug smile. Craig frowned, thoughtfully.

Goniff, after all, had been the recipient of that last low whispery torch song, along with a teasing finger run across his lips and along his cheek, while the singer soulfully gazed into his eyes, leaned in close enough to brush the front of that deep green dress against his dress jacket, and slipped the microfilm into his pocket at the same time, before moving away to turn her sultry attentions to a leering German civilian. The plan had been for the contact to slip the information to Actor, but he'd been gathered into a conversation with two SS officers and that hadn't proved feasible.

Craig had thought the pass-over had been a bust, until Goniff had signaled him that it was a done deal; Craig HAD wondered at the time how she'd known the short blond man, dressed in the natty evening wear and standing well away from Actor and the others, was one of them, and had worried that they were becoming too obvious.

Neither the Englishman or Lynn, who had been discreetly watching the exchange from the bar, had said a word about her identity, during the mission or after, not til the encounter at The Doves, and someday Craig would pay them both back for that, he thought. Even then, once those two had laughingly shared the secret, they hadn't really believed it til Goniff urged her on, "sing that last song again, eh. I liked that one, I did," squinting over at her and grinned cheekily. And although she had shaken her head at him in mock reproof, she had indeed sung that last song, Deep As The Ocean, each breathy phrase, complete with the sultry facial expressions, this time without the physical contact, though her warm laughing eyes never left his. By the time she was finished, the rest of the pub was applauding enthusiastically, and she'd given in to requests for another couple of songs, ones Garrison didn't know, but the Englishman seemed familiar with, nodding his approval as she started each one.

Garrison and the others had quickly gotten over the shock of realizing the quiet, non-descript young woman dressed in a loose brown top and long simple skirt, was indeed the same over-the-top cabaret singer, she of the tight, low cut, emerald green dress - the one Casino had praised in the car leaving the nightclub, saying "got a great set of, uh, lungs on her, don't she?," with a quick glance over at Lynn. Craig remembered that Goniff had been in for some heavy teasing that night, "hey, Limey, I know ya do the second-story work, but that second-story might be a little outta your league, doncha think?" as had Actor. "Hey, Beautiful, what happened? Losing your touch?" Casino had taunted the tall Italian. Craig had a flashback of the sly grin that had crossed his pickpocket's face at the teasing.

Back at the Mansion the next day, still shaking his head over her con, Garrison had made a couple of phone calls, checking her dossier quietly. For someone whose file indicated she was coldly aloof, though highly competent and professional in the field (hence the nickname, (or was it just someone's disgruntled opinion?) written in the margins of the file - Ice Queen - along with her code name of Dragon), her acceptance of and by his team had deeply surprised him. She had exhibited quiet affection for them, accepting their teasing in good spirits. She'd helped them when she could, he knew from Lynn, sneaking in food, medicines, whatever was needed, when they had no other resources. 

Now, watching her preen for the British aristocrat, having her turn on them now, that couldn't go down well, and he found himself deeply disappointed in her and angry on behalf of his men.

He looked around at the expressions on each of their faces; Actor, tight-mouthed and grim, brown eyes becoming angry and scornful. Casino's jaw was hard and jutting forward; he was on a slow-boil, soon to be a rolling spillover if Garrison knew him at all, in defense of his fellows, if not himself. Chief was pulling even more into himself, his face cold, expressionless. Goniff, his expressive pale blue eyes opened wider than usual, eyes focused on the woman, her amused agreement with Sinclair obviously taking him aback; Craig watched the shocked sense of betrayal disappear as his resident pickpocket blinked rapidly, then quickly hid whatever his thoughts were, dropping his gaze back to his cards, though his free hand was tightly clinched and white knuckled.

The Lieutenant clasped his jaw tightly and prepared to step forward and speak when his sister laid her hand on his forearm in warning; glancing at her, he was shocked as she smiled a tiny smile and shook her head, telling him not to respond. He didn't understand that reaction, thinking to himself, {"how can she expect me to let this go by? In fact, I'd have expected her to jump to their defense before now; she treats them like kid brothers most of the time; what's going on?"}

Still, he'd go with her judgment, at least for another few minutes, but he wasn't going to allow much more of this, no matter who Lord Sinclair was. His men weren't soldiers, that was true, and except for Actor they weren't well educated by common standards, but they were his men, loyal, doing a thankless job, and they deserved more than to be subjected to ridicule by this idiot and surprisingly by the young woman they'd accepted into their midst.

Lynn tensed in eager anticipation; she, far better than her brother, knew just what the young redhead thought of the team, of each member of the team. No way was she letting this slide.

The Dragon, Meghada, ignored the varied looks being sent her way from around the room, anger, resentment, bewilderment, apprehension, refusing to let herself give in to the need to reassure them. Especially Chief and Goniff, she thought; they wore such convincing masks, one of stolid implacability, the other that of a mischievous clown, to disguise their vulnerability, but she knew they were each painfully aware of what they saw as their inadequacies, and this idiot was hitting them in what was a sore spot for each of them. Actor, of course, didn't seem to think he had any inadequacies, and if Casino ever gave it a thought, he hid it well behind his bluster.

She focused instead on the need put a stop to the arrogant young lord and his games, and purred softly, glancing around with amusement, "true, the mental stimulation in the Common Room of an evening is hardly what I witnessed at Cambridge, with you, Lords Fairfax, Carlisle and Armbruster." She paused, thoughtfully, "such fine young men. You are serving as your father's secretary, I know, and I'm sure each of the others are in equally important roles."

She smiled again, and sighed wistfully, gazing up at Lord Sinclair with melting gold-brown eyes, softly declaring, "yes, I have such strong, vivid memories of those evenings, my Lord; it's rather hard to forget the brave sight of four such promising young men of the British aristocracy, rising stars, engaging in the" (her voice slowing, drawing out the words) "slow, self-satisfying pleasure of stroking their own, and each other's, egos - a prime display of intellectual masturbation." Her voice changed during that last sentence, becoming harder, more impatient as she finished it, before she continued sharply, "rather like being obliged to witness a group of twelve-year-old boys enjoying a circle jerk-off, I always thought. I rather felt as if I needed a good hot shower after each game."

Lord Sinclair's jaw dropped in shock and he gasped in stunned outrage. Lynn turned her head into her brother's shoulder, trying to hide the triumphant grin, but her wildly laughing eyes rose to meet her brother's widely incredulous ones. The men the English Lord had scorned were looking at the woman, each with their own expression of incredulity . Actor was turning away toward the fireplace, head bent, holding back laughter, barely. Casino was staring, mouth open, eyes wide at this more than a little vulgar declaration. Chief had just the smallest possible smile, watching both the woman and the tall, oh so superior man, alert in case he should take some overt physical action in retaliation.

Goniff shifted to sit back in his chair, his wide mobile mouth relaxing, recovering from its tight downward pull; he lowered his gaze, but watched her through his lashes, waiting with anticipation for her next move. Although outwardly the most social and affable of the team, in reality, he didn't trust easily, and he had trusted her, removed his masks for her. Her seeming betrayal had hurt, more than he liked to admit; it was good to know he hadn't been mistaken in her. 

Lord Sinclair reared back and snapped, "you certainly didn't seem to feel that way then; if I remember correctly, you were eager to participate in the game, urged us on, even." His chin was raised and he glared down his aristocratic nose at this most annoying, this insulting woman. Obviously, she had changed greatly, had lost the characteristics that had made her a natural to be included in their very exclusive group, he thought. How exceedingly coarse and common she had become! Obviously she fit in far better with this scum than he would ever had thought possible.

With an arched brow, she looked at him with disdain and amusement, and at a deliberate pace, explained "well, I really had little choice; it was the only way we could come up with to make sure you and your little playmates were away from your quarters and that 'oh, so secret', ah, 'temple' of yours for long enough to us to gather the evidence against you."

Now obvious contempt filled her voice, "the new 'Hellfire Club', wasn't that how you fancied yourselves, the newest generation to see the merits in resurrecting those old practices of Alistair Crowley and his lot. Took awhile, far more evenings that I'd have liked, certainly, but we finally got the goods on you; that was your last term at Cambridge, wasn't it, for you AND your friends, once that lot was put in front of the Dean and the Chancellors."

She smiled up at him, serenely, and looked over at Garrison. "Not to give orders in your domain, Lieutenant but don't you think the Sergeant Major might show Lord Sinclair to his car now? No reason to waste the rest of this evening listening to his sputtering. And you might have the Sergeant Major just confirm that he really HAS left the grounds; he's a nasty, sneaky twit when all's said and done. Even cheated at the game, as I remember it." 

Garrison, his face stern, hiding the grin that he was barely holding in, strode over to the intercom and gave instructions to the Sergeant Major to have his lordship's car brought around, offering seemingly sincere apologies for the awkwardness of the evening, escorting him to the door to deposit him in the Sergeant Major's capable hands. Squawking in a most undignified manner, cautioning Garrison about 'that treacherous, underhanded little upstart!', threatening to bring down all sorts of wrath upon her head ("my head," Meghada thought in triumph, "not the guys.") the irate Lord departed under escort, leaving the room to the dead silence that remained.

Quirking one eyebrow, and clucking her tongue, she looked at the guys one at a time, slowly, leisurely - Actor, Casino, Goniff, Chief. "Well, that went surprisingly well," she said, following with a throaty chuckle. Suddenly the laughs broke out, voices intermingling. "Cor, did you see 'is face? Looked like a bloody trout, 'e did." "What a setup! You just might take Lynn's place if she's unable to come out with us sometime." "Nothing like hearing a classy dame coming out with something that'd have my Mom reach'n for the soap to wash out my mouth." And from Chief, just a rare smile and nod of appreciation. From Lynn, a quick one-armed hug; from the Lieutenant, a rueful shake of his head and a murmured, "and I thought you might had a hard time fitting in here."


End file.
